by B. J Daniels
He shook off the panic that had him running scared. He needed to call Frank back but he hated to tie up the line. Maybe Mark had found out something about Maggie.
* * *
“I’M STARVING,” NETTIE said as Frank drove away from the café.
“We were just in a restaurant,” her husband said with amusement.
“That was work, and anyway, I crave Mexican. I thought I saw a restaurant down that way.” She pointed to the south.
“I just can’t imagine what any of this has to do with Maggie Thompson,” Frank said. “From the way Flint described her, a businesswoman, she doesn’t have much in common with Jenna, let alone some man in a brown van.”
“Flint said the brown van was a long shot. The two cases might not be connected, but I think we should chase down Jenna’s friend Dana from back home. I’m betting her number will be on this phone.”
Nettie took Reiner’s phone out of her pocket, tapped in the passcode and touched Phone and then Recents. “What’s the area code of North Dakota?” she asked. “I’m betting it’s 701.” She smiled as she put the phone to her ear and listened to it ring. Once. Twice. In the middle of the third ring, a woman answered.
“Jenna, oh God, I was so worried about you. When I didn’t hear from you, I thought for sure that he’d found you and—” She stopped as if suddenly realizing that Jenna hadn’t spoken, not one word. “Jenna?” A horrified sound came out of the woman’s mouth. “Clark? Oh God. No.” The call ended abruptly.
A chill raced up Nettie’s spine, making her shiver.
“What?” Frank asked in concern.
“A woman answered.” She repeated the woman’s words verbatim. It was a gift from when she’d been the worst gossip in the county. She never got what she’d heard wrong, though.
“So if the woman who answered was Dana, she was worried about some man finding Jenna. A man named Clark?”
“Apparently so.” She scrolled through the rest of the recent calls on the phone. “If Jenna called the man after her, possibly a man named Clark, she must have deleted it. All the other numbers are local.” She looked up as Frank pulled into the parking lot of the Mexican restaurant and pocketed the phone.
Flint returned their call only minutes after they’d ordered. While Frank stepped out of the room to fill the sheriff in on what they’d found out, Nettie stayed and nibbled on the fried tortillas and salsa.
“Well?” she asked when her husband returned.
“No word on Maggie. He wants us to keep investigating.”
It wasn’t until they’d both devoured large plates of seafood enchiladas that Nettie said, “I’ve never wanted to go to Radville, North Dakota, more than I do right at this moment. I don’t know what happened to Maggie Thompson, but Jenna Holloway is in trouble. If she’s still alive.”
“I wish I didn’t agree.”
She pushed her plate aside and pulled out her tablet. “I want to talk to her friend Dana. But first...how old is Jenna?”
“Forty-seven when she disappeared in March,” Frank said.
“So what year would she have graduated from high school back in Radville?”
“About 1987,” he said. “You think they went to school together?”
Nettie typed Class of 1987 Radville, North Dakota, and scrolled down until she found one marked Classmates 1987. She found the yearbook, clicked on Who’s in the Book. The list was alphabetical by last name, but it didn’t take her long since there weren’t that many graduates. Nor was there many Danas or Jennas, for that matter.
* * *
UNDERSHERIFF MARK RAMIREZ rubbed a hand over his face and looked at the clock. The first twenty-four hours were critical in a possible abduction case. And that was what they were dealing with, wasn’t it?
No one had seen Maggie—not since a neighbor waved at her from down the street twenty-two hours ago. That same neighbor when questioned again said she’d noticed the older-model brown van go by and thought she heard it slow as if to turn. She thought it could have turned into the sheriff’s drive but she wasn’t sure. She hadn’t been paying attention.
Outside the window, snow whipped around in the wind to form drifts in the parking lot. There was still no word on Celeste Duma, either, but there was a BOLO out on her and the SUV she was driving.
As much as Mark hated to admit it, he was starting to agree with the sheriff that Celeste Duma might have had something to do with Maggie’s abduction. Why else hadn’t she at least called her husband to let him know where she was? Wayne Duma had left messages for her, but said all of his calls had been going straight to voice mail. Each hour, Celeste looked more guilty.
The state crime team had driven up from Billings and were now finishing up at Flint’s house. The preliminary lab tests had come back on the blood found on the floor based on DNA samples from Maggie’s house. Not that Mark hadn’t suspected it would be her blood. There was just enough blood to know that Maggie was injured. So far, they weren’t looking at this as a homicide.
As far as Mark knew, no other evidence had been found at the scene indicating that anyone else had been in the house—except the sheriff. It was his house, so that wasn’t unusual.
“The sheriff and Maggie have had an off-and-on relationship,” Harp had commented when he’d come in at the end of his shift. “Who’s to say it didn’t turn violent? She was going to move in with him before and changed her mind.” He’d shrugged.
Mark had wanted to punch him, but that was nothing new. There was no love lost between Harp and Flint, so of course he would want the sheriff to be a suspect. “I heard you’re getting married,” he said, changing the subject.
That shut Harp up. “Guess so.”
“Heard you have a baby on the way. Know if it’s a boy or a girl yet?”
“Too early.”
“Well, congrats.”
“Sure.” Harp put on his coat with a sigh. “Where is the sheriff, anyway? He could be out there burying her body right now.”
“You should get home to your pregnant girlfriend,” Mark said as Flint came through the door. Harp tipped his hat to the sheriff and went out, closing the door behind him.
“I hate to ask,” Flint said.
“Just Harp being Harp.” Unfortunately, he probably wasn’t the only one in town questioning the sheriff’s innocence. People liked to talk, and while Flint was liked, most people thought the worst when something like this happened.
Flint pulled off his Stetson and shook snow off his coat as he hung it up along with his hat. Through the window, he saw that the snow was coming down hard. This would make finding Maggie more difficult—and also more urgent if she was out in this storm. He silently prayed she was somewhere warm.
“Any word?” Flint asked hopefully.
“We’re waiting for Celeste to check in at the spa in Paradise Valley. Apparently, she called this morning and changed her reservation to today because of the storm...” Paradise Valley down by Livingston was a good three-hour drive when the roads were bare. But Celeste had left yesterday. That meant there were already more than twenty-four hours that her whereabouts couldn’t be accounted for.
Mark knew that the sheriff thought the spa reservation was merely a ruse and that the woman was wherever she’d taken Maggie. “Her cell phone is turned off, but that’s probably because she doesn’t want to talk to her husband. I left a message for her, telling her we need to talk to her immediately and that it was urgent.”
Flint made a disparaging noise and met his gaze. “You’re buying into this?”
“I put out a BOLO on her and the vehicle she’s driving. That’s all we can do right now. If she doesn’t show up...” Mark cleared his voice. Right now they had three missing women: Maggie, Celeste and Jenna Holloway. “How did it go at Holloway’s?”
It took Flint a moment.
Mark could see that it was next to impossible for him to keep his mind off Maggie. “Anvil wasn’t happy to hear that his wife had run away with another man and was now missing again. I did receive more information on Jenna for the PIs I hired.”
Mark had been surprised that the sheriff had hired the PIs out of his own pocket. “You didn’t think Sheridan, Wyoming, law enforcement could handle it?”
Flint met his gaze. “Normally I would turn it over to them, but if she was taken by a man driving a brown van...”
Mark rubbed a hand over his face again. He hated to see Flint chasing something as coincidental as a brown van. True, it was the small seemingly inconsequential things that often solved a case, but he felt that the sheriff was clutching at straws. Not that they had much else to go on.
“Celeste was never going to the spa,” Flint said, sounding exhausted. “She’s taken Maggie.”
Mark said nothing because there was nothing he could say. Maybe Flint was right. Or maybe he was too close to this. They’d found no evidence at the Duma house that Maggie Thompson had ever been there.
“DCI still at my house?” Flint asked after a moment.
Mark nodded and considered how much to tell him. Flint was still sheriff. He was still in charge. But that could change at any moment. He was waiting for a call from DCI and he had a bad feeling what the news would be. “The blood was Maggie’s. Not enough to fear that she was mortally wounded,” he added quickly. “So far they haven’t found any evidence of a third person at the scene.”
“Third person?”
“Most of the prints are yours at the house.”
Flint groaned and raked a hand through his hair as he dropped into a chair across from Mark’s desk. “If you tell me that they think I’m a suspect—”
“You know how this goes. Of course they look at the boyfriend first.”
“It’s a waste of time.”
“They’re going to want to know where you were in the hour or so before you came home and found Maggie gone,” Mark said.
Flint swore and looked away. “I already told the officer from DCI who called me. I had driven out to the ranch. My father saw something out there a few months ago. The military wouldn’t say what was going on, but I found tracks. There’d been men around the missile silo wearing hazmat suits. I wanted to have a look around to make sure everything was okay. I don’t have to tell you what my father thinks is going on out there.”
“More problems with aliens?” Mark tried to lighten the conversation.
“He doesn’t trust the government, either. He’s convinced they’re keeping something from us.”
Mark laughed. “Imagine that.” He sobered. “Did you see anyone out there?”
“No. So no, I don’t have an alibi. I had turned off my phone. Truthfully, I figured if Celeste had found out that Maggie was moving in, she’d call, and I wasn’t up for one of her tirades. When I turned my phone back on, there was the call from Maggie, so I came home. This is ridiculous and you know it.”
“I do, but you also know it is going to look suspicious to DCI.” His phone rang. He looked at Flint and then picked it up. “Ramirez.” He listened, his stomach turning with regret as he did. “I’ll let him know.”
All the color had drained from Flint’s face.
“It’s not Maggie,” he said quickly. “It was the DCI, though. They think it’s best if you’re off the case.”
Flint got to his feet. “We’re already short staffed. We can’t afford to lose another lawman, especially right now with Maggie missing and possibly out there in this snowstorm somewhere hurt and—”
“I agree. But you know I have to do this. I’ll keep you informed. That’s the best I can do and I shouldn’t even be doing that. Flint, we’ll find her.”
“But will you find her in time?”
“You need to get some rest. For the time being, you’ll be on paid leave. Where will you be staying? I’ll get some clothing sent over there. Anything else you need?”
“I’ll be at the ranch.” The sheriff put his Stetson back on his head and reached for his coat, looking like a broken man. Mark’s heart went out to him. He’d worked with Flint for years. He admired the man, trusted him with his life. He knew in his heart that Flint hadn’t hurt Maggie. But with these types of investigations, DCI called the shots.
And under the circumstances, he thought their call was the right one. Better for Flint to step off this case.
“I’ll be at the ranch with Hawk and Cyrus,” Flint said, his gaze locking with Mark’s. “Call me if there is any news. Any at all.”
“You know I will.”
* * *
DEPUTY HARPER COLE took no small amount of pleasure when he heard that the sheriff had been put on leave. He told himself that the DCI wouldn’t have done that unless they’d found something at the crime scene that had made them suspicious.
“What if he’s guilty as hell?” Harp had said to Vicki when he got to her apartment after hearing about it from the night-shift dispatcher. He still thought of this place as Vicki’s apartment even though he lived there now. It had been Vicki’s idea for him to move in to save money. All she talked about now was baby clothes and high chairs and cribs. It drove him crazy.
“Who’s guilty as hell?” she asked distractedly.
“The sheriff. He’s been put on a leave of absence. If he’s the one who hurt his girlfriend...” Harp couldn’t help smiling. “I could be sheriff sooner than I thought. I was going to run against him in the next election anyway, but this is perfect.”
She turned to look at him, frowning. “What happened to his girlfriend?”
He shrugged. “No one knows. Right now all of law enforcement is looking for her—and Celeste Duma. The sheriff is convinced Celeste took her.”
“Why would she do that?”
Sometimes this woman tried his patience to the point of breaking. “Because Celeste is the sheriff’s ex-wife.” Vicki still looked confused. “You’re burning something on the stove.”
She turned around and quickly pulled off the smoking skillet. He shook his head. Vicki was no cook. Nor was she much of a housekeeper now that she was pregnant. Hell, there seemed to be only one thing she was good at.
He got up from the kitchen table to press himself against her backside.
“Harp, I’m cooking.”
“No, you’re not. You’re just burning stuff.” He nibbled at the side of her neck. “Turn off the stove and let’s go into the bedroom.”
“I thought you were hungry?”
“I am and I think you know what I’m hungry for,” he said, pressing himself harder against her.
She sighed and he thought fondly of the days when she wouldn’t have hesitated. He cupped her breasts. There was more there now that she was pregnant. He tried not to think about that as he tweaked one nipple, then the other before he picked her up off her feet and carried her the few steps to the bedroom.
Vicki was built like a preteen and wasn’t much heavier than one. He tossed her on the bed and began to undress.
“Just be more gentle this time, Harp. I don’t want you hurting the baby.”
The baby. He groaned as he ripped off his uniform shirt and dropped his jeans to the floor without taking off his boots. Grabbing her ankles, he pulled her to the edge of the bed. Gentle, my ass.
* * *
FLINT WAS ON his way to the ranch when he realized he hadn’t eaten since breakfast. He saw that there were only a couple of cars parked out front of the Stagecoach Saloon that his sister and brother owned. He didn’t feel like being social, so he parked on the side and entered the back door.
“Howdy, Sheriff,” Billie Dee sang out when she saw him. “You’re in luck. I’ve still got some shrimp gumbo left. Want me to make you a bowl?”
He smiled at t
he cook. Billie Dee was a large older Texan with one of those cheerful personalities that radiated out like rays of sunshine. “I’d love a bowl. Mind if I have it back here in the kitchen?”
“Not at all,” she said. As she slid the bowl in front of him, he met her gaze and saw compassion. Clearly she’d heard about Maggie being missing. “Can I get you a beer with that? Or are you on duty?”
“I’m...off duty. So I’d love a beer, but I can go get it.” He glanced toward the front of the building and the saloon. “My brother working?”
She waved him back into his chair. “Let me. You know those regulars. They’ll want to talk your arm off and your gumbo will get cold. You just sit tight.” She left and came right back with a cold beer.
“Thank you.” It was more than thanks for the beer and they both knew it. He wasn’t up to answering questions. He wasn’t up to visiting at all.
“It was slow, so Darby sent Mariah upstairs to rest. We got us some pregnant women runnin’ around here,” she said as she came back to the table with a small bowl of gumbo of her own and sat down. “All they talk about is babies.” She laughed.
Flint took a bite of the gumbo. It was good and hot with both heat and spice. Billie Dee was determined to make Texans out of all of them. He listened while the cook told him about his sister and Mariah.
“They’re not even showin’ yet and they’re busy buying maternity clothes. Sure not like anything I’ve ever seen,” she said with a shake of her head. “I thought the idea was to hide that baby bump. Instead, these tops let it all hang out.” She laughed again. It was a warm sound that seemed to fit the woman, the kitchen and the food. He hadn’t realized how hungry he’d been until he saw that his bowl was empty.
“You want some more?” Billie Dee asked.
Flint shook his head. “Thank you so much for...” He couldn’t finish for a moment, his throat closing. “...everything.” He swallowed and picked up his beer to drain the glass.
